Read Online The Mystery of Jessica Benson by C.K. Laurence - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C.K. Laurence
Ads: Link
to
both buildings. “Once you’re inside the concierge will direct
you. Will you be staying the night?”
The question caught her off balance, and a quick picture
of what that might be like crossed her mind. She couldn’t
suppress a grin. “No, I shouldn’t be too long.” Dammit!
“I’ll keep her up top here for you then, Miss.” She
nodded, wondering if it was that obvious. “Miss?” She headed
inside.
The interior of the building was as elegant as it was
understated. The lobby overlooked the ocean, dark now, save for
a shimmering beam of moonlight dancing on the water. Erte
prints lined the walls and verdant plants warmed the atmosphere.
The concierge stood behind a reception desk of dark marble,
which was surrounded by a wall of black and white television
monitors flashing a labyrinth of hallways. He too was
meticulously groomed and sported a well manicured goatee.
“Good evening. May I be of assistance?” Very slightly
accented English.
“Hello, uh, yes, thanks. I’m here to see Kyle Sands.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Mr. Sands called down a few
minutes ago. You would be Detective Brandt?”
“I would.”
He pointed to a bank of glass elevators. “The first one on
the left side is the express. It’ll take you directly to the
penthouse. Mr. Sands resides in Penthouse II. I’ll let him know
you are on your way up.”
Kyle had just finished showering when the concierge
buzzed. He pulled on jeans and grabbed an old team jersey as he
trotted to answer the ringing doorbell. He wasn’t sure why she
was here. He didn’t know her anymore, and the thought crossed
his mind that it wasn’t going to be any kind of a private meeting
as she had stated, that she might have handcuffs out, ready to
arrest him. Why she would have lied , he thought, other than to
make sure he wouldn’t bolt and he’d be relatively calm. He
couldn’t figure it, but it had been bothering him all afternoon.
Maybe it was because she’d sounded nervous when they’d
spoken, a sure sign that something wasn’t what it was supposed
to be.
That was not the case. There was no nasty partner, no
handcuffs, and no gun pointed at him, just the face of someone
very special he had known so well during his youth. Older, but
still fresh and open, perhaps even more beautiful with the extra
years and the maturity they brought.
The two stared at one another for a moment, but after the
initial awkwardness of the situation, Kyle put his arms around
her and gave her a long, tight hug. Then, realizing that might be
really bad form, he let her go and stepped back. He shook his
head and apologized.
“I’m sorry, Karen. It was just my gut reaction. I’m sure
the chief suspect hugging the detective is a breach of some kind
of cop etiquette.”
He thought to himself that if she were angry at him for
his display, she was putting forth a cordial enough face. But she
didn’t seem the least bit bothered by his indiscretion and smiling,
asked, “Are we going to stand out here all evening or may I
come in?”
He led her to his living room which had floor-to-ceiling
windows. Starlight shimmered over the ocean on this dark night.
A rich, hunter green leather sofa and two armchairs separated by
a mahogany coffee table sat on a thick, sculpted area rug of
patterned jewel tones and formed a conversation pit. The wall
displayed floating glass framed life-size paintings that froze
dramatic moments on the football field. Kyle was the subject of
none of them. In fact, there was nothing in the room that
highlighted him or his career save for two photographs: one of
his family and one of her brother Brett.
Book shelves lined the inner apartment walls, filled with
an eclectic collection of classics, mysteries and atlases, all in
hardcover. There were the complete works of Shakespeare,
Bartlett’s Quotations, Elmore Leonard, Tennessee Williams,
John Sandford, and Barbara Parker. Al Franken’s latest lay open
on a coffee table. He was not your
both buildings. “Once you’re inside the concierge will direct
you. Will you be staying the night?”
The question caught her off balance, and a quick picture
of what that might be like crossed her mind. She couldn’t
suppress a grin. “No, I shouldn’t be too long.” Dammit!
“I’ll keep her up top here for you then, Miss.” She
nodded, wondering if it was that obvious. “Miss?” She headed
inside.
The interior of the building was as elegant as it was
understated. The lobby overlooked the ocean, dark now, save for
a shimmering beam of moonlight dancing on the water. Erte
prints lined the walls and verdant plants warmed the atmosphere.
The concierge stood behind a reception desk of dark marble,
which was surrounded by a wall of black and white television
monitors flashing a labyrinth of hallways. He too was
meticulously groomed and sported a well manicured goatee.
“Good evening. May I be of assistance?” Very slightly
accented English.
“Hello, uh, yes, thanks. I’m here to see Kyle Sands.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Mr. Sands called down a few
minutes ago. You would be Detective Brandt?”
“I would.”
He pointed to a bank of glass elevators. “The first one on
the left side is the express. It’ll take you directly to the
penthouse. Mr. Sands resides in Penthouse II. I’ll let him know
you are on your way up.”
Kyle had just finished showering when the concierge
buzzed. He pulled on jeans and grabbed an old team jersey as he
trotted to answer the ringing doorbell. He wasn’t sure why she
was here. He didn’t know her anymore, and the thought crossed
his mind that it wasn’t going to be any kind of a private meeting
as she had stated, that she might have handcuffs out, ready to
arrest him. Why she would have lied , he thought, other than to
make sure he wouldn’t bolt and he’d be relatively calm. He
couldn’t figure it, but it had been bothering him all afternoon.
Maybe it was because she’d sounded nervous when they’d
spoken, a sure sign that something wasn’t what it was supposed
to be.
That was not the case. There was no nasty partner, no
handcuffs, and no gun pointed at him, just the face of someone
very special he had known so well during his youth. Older, but
still fresh and open, perhaps even more beautiful with the extra
years and the maturity they brought.
The two stared at one another for a moment, but after the
initial awkwardness of the situation, Kyle put his arms around
her and gave her a long, tight hug. Then, realizing that might be
really bad form, he let her go and stepped back. He shook his
head and apologized.
“I’m sorry, Karen. It was just my gut reaction. I’m sure
the chief suspect hugging the detective is a breach of some kind
of cop etiquette.”
He thought to himself that if she were angry at him for
his display, she was putting forth a cordial enough face. But she
didn’t seem the least bit bothered by his indiscretion and smiling,
asked, “Are we going to stand out here all evening or may I
come in?”
He led her to his living room which had floor-to-ceiling
windows. Starlight shimmered over the ocean on this dark night.
A rich, hunter green leather sofa and two armchairs separated by
a mahogany coffee table sat on a thick, sculpted area rug of
patterned jewel tones and formed a conversation pit. The wall
displayed floating glass framed life-size paintings that froze
dramatic moments on the football field. Kyle was the subject of
none of them. In fact, there was nothing in the room that
highlighted him or his career save for two photographs: one of
his family and one of her brother Brett.
Book shelves lined the inner apartment walls, filled with
an eclectic collection of classics, mysteries and atlases, all in
hardcover. There were the complete works of Shakespeare,
Bartlett’s Quotations, Elmore Leonard, Tennessee Williams,
John Sandford, and Barbara Parker. Al Franken’s latest lay open
on a coffee table. He was not your
Similar Books
